Continuance of the Conjurer
by the frog princess
Summary: A seaQuest, Xena, Army of Darkness crossover. (What do these have in common? Actor Ted Raimi.)


Co-written with [aj2245@aol.com][1]

(Inspired by the television programs seaQuest and Xena: Warrior Princess and the motion picture Army of Darkness. Yes, that means crossover!) 

* * *

1317 A.D. (give or take)  
Europe (or somewhere thereabouts) 

*** 

The waves crashed against the rocks. The lightning flashed. The thunder rumbled. The wind howled. In short, Elspeth would have much preferred being in bed with extra covers pulled up over her head instead of standing outside on the edge of a cliff performing a ludicrous magic ritual. 

Nature's fury was deafening but somehow the old man's voice echoed above it all, reciting the incantation. 

Elspeth pulled her cloak tightly around her as her clothes and hair were blown in every direction. The wind stung her eyes, drying her tears before she could cry them. It felt as though she was standing in a vortex from hell. In fact, she was pretty sure that was exactly where she was standing. 

"Dammit, grandfather! You shouldn't be doing this now!! I told you I was not quite sure of the translation!!" she screamed, but her screams were swallowed by the storm and even she herself could not hear the words. 

But still the old man's feeble voice magically echoed above it all. 

The foreign words rang in her ears but her heart seemed to understand. The storm intensified with the old man's entreaties. The time had come. He turned to her and beckoned. Again his voice was carried otherwordly to her years. "The bones," he called in her own tongue. "Bring me the bones of William the Bold." 

Trembling despite herself, she went to him and pulled a worn leather pouch from her cloak. Turning it over, she spilled the contents onto the ancient book which the old man held before him like a tray. White glistening bones -- she had spent days cleaning and polishing them. 

"The right hand of William the Bold!" he yelled to the sky. "Return the warrior to this world! Return his bloodline to the ages!" And then the words became foreign to her again. 

She was filled with dread. She was afraid, not so much that the old man would fail, but that he would succeed. She rolled her eyes in frustration and annoyance. 

A shape emerged from the sea below the cliffs. A second shape followed, and then a third. Men -- the invaders -- they were coming far sooner than expected. The spell was too late. She sighed. Perhaps it was better to die this way, rather than face the undead her grandfather might raise. 

And then the storm ceased. Instantly, without warning, it just stopped. The wind and waves were calm. The clouds thinned. The sun was on the horizon. Could it be sunrise already? Had they been standing here that long? 

"Grandfather?" she asked hesitantly, perhaps a hint of disappointment in her voice. "Is it over? Is that all?" 

The wizard seemed as confused as she was. He looked, for once, like the old man that he was. "The spell is done," he mumbled, "but I don't see -- there! There down below! They rise from the sea!" 

She looked down at the beach. In the clear morning light, she could see the three men as they staggered in the sand. They were not invaders -- they were the wizard's undead! 

The old man grinned like a child. "Come, Elspeth! We must greet our defenders!" 

As they made there way down to the beach, she could hear the men's voices. Snatches of strange words that she could not understand, but it was not the language of the invaders. She was sure of that at least. 

"There you see," the old magician beamed. "It worked. I told you it would work." 

"I never doubted that it would work," she said. "I only doubted that it was a good idea." 

One man brandished a sword at another who stood unarmed and the third hid behind the second. The unarmed man was the strangest of the three. He wore the oddest clothing and he had slabs of polished glass hung on his face in front of his eyes. 

"Grandfather, I don't understand." 

He chuckled. "They are our salvation. They are the great warriors of time who will defend us from our enemies." 

He pointed at the man with the sword, who was now facing her and babbling in his alien tongue. "The Past." He pointed to the strangely-dressed one. "The Future." The old man walked around to point at the remaining arrival. "And the present -- Percival???!!!" 

Percival looked up at the old man. "Bessarion?" he breathed nervously. "Is the battle over?" 

"Ba --?" Bessarion sputtered. "Is the battle over?! The firking battle's been over for 17 years!!! You lost! You're dead!" 

"I'm what?!" Percival squeaked. 

"Excuse me?" the man with the glasses interrupted. "Where are we?" 

Bessarion ignored him. He rounded on Elspeth and yelled. "That was supposed to be the right hand of William the Bold! Not Percival the Sniveling Coward! That was our only chance to cast the spell. The planets won't be aligned again for centuries!" 

"It was the grave of William the Bold," Elspeth insisted. "You were there." 

"Well, it was the hand of Percival the Sniveling!" Bessarion yelled, jabbing a finger at Percival, who reflexively ducked away in response. Bessarion grunted in disgust and paced the beach. "How could this have happened!?" he shouted in annoyance. 

"They died in the same battle," Elspeth sighed. "And they were distant cousins. There likely was a resemblance of sorts. I suppose in the confusion that followed the defeat, the bodies could have been confused. As long as they were cousins," she continued, pointing at the swordsman, "then that would mean the ancestor --" 

The swordsman burbled something incomprehensible to her and doffed his hat politely. 

"Yes, yes," Bessarion muttered dismissively. "The ancestor is the same. But the descendant is different," He began circling the strange one, eyeing him closely. Bessarion sighed. "And even if he did work out, Percival is no substitute for William." 

"Wha-wha-what did you mean about my being dead?" Percival squeaked. 

"Oh, it's quite simple, Percival," Bessarion snapped. "You're dead. You've been dead for seventeen years. You surely remember getting shot in the back with a flaming arrow, eh? When you were running away from you post. Bring back any memories, Percival? Hmm?" 

"I was afraid." 

"Hrmph. As well, I suppose, you should have been. You did die after all." 

He whimpered pitifully. 

"If he's dead," the strange one asked, "how exactly can he be--?" 

"Walking and talking and sniveling?" 

"Yes." 

"Magic." 

The strange one cocked one eye and pinched up his mouth. "Okay, whatever." 

"I suppose," Bessarion sighed, "that introductions are in order. My name is Bessarion, also known as Bessarion the Wizard, Bessarion the Magician, Bessarion the Conj --" 

"I get the general idea," the strange one interrupted. 

"This is my granddaughter, Elspeth. The man hiding behind the boulder over there is a one-time compatriot of mine, your ancestor Percival. And you are?" 

"O'Neill. Timothy O'Neill." He offered a half-hearted wave. 

The swordsman seemed to grasp that introductions were being made. Holding aloft his sword he announced, "J@x@r t@e M@g@i@i@e@t a@ y@u@ s@r@i@e!" 

"I didn't quite catch all of that," Bessarion admitted. 

Tim sighed. "He said his name is Joxer the Magnificent and he's at your service." 

"Yes, well, I supposed that counts for something. Come along now. Explanations will go easier on a full stomach. Breakfast awaits at the castle." He herded Joxer and Tim up the steep path, calling over his shoulder, "Come along, Percival!" 

*** 

Breakfast was an awkward affair to say the least. The swordsman, Joxer, was going on and on at great length and Elspeth felt a bit flustered not knowing what he was saying. Especially since most of it seemed directed at her. 

The strange one, Timothy, would translate occasionally. But most of the time he'd just roll his eyes. At the moment, he wasn't even paying attention. He was wrapped up in her grandfather's stories. 

"So you're trying to tell me," Tim said a bit skeptically, "that these two are both my ancestors. One from Medieval Europe --" 

"I'm not quite sure what you mean by Medieval Europe," Bessarion interrupted, "but if you mean the here and now, yes." 

"-- and one from Ancient Greece," he continued. 

"Yes." 

"And they're both dead?" 

"Yes." 

"Ghosts from the past?" 

"Yes." 

"And I'm --?" 

"A shade from a future that might yet be." 

"And we're all here -- why?" 

"A magical spell -- an unusually talented bit of wizardry, if I do say so myself." Tim thought he heard Elspeth mutter something under her breath, but Bessarion continued without pause. "I realize the concept of interdimensional time travel may seem a bit unbelievable to you --" 

"You'd be surprised." 

"The planets were in perfect position and we had but one chance to --" 

"But why did you cast the spell in the first place?" 

"We needed warriors," Bessarion said. "Our army was defeated years ago -- our king a captive. The soldiers that are left are nothing but scattered vagabonds who look out only for themselves. And now a new wave of invaders is moving to seize our lands. We need warriors, true warriors, to defend us." 

"And I'm involved in this plan -- how?" Tim asked. 

"You were supposed to be the descendant of William the Bold." Bessarion turned a disdainful eye on Percival who was at the far end of the table greedily slurping down his breakfast. "Obviously we miscalculated slightly." 

This time the delicate snort from Elspeth's side of the table was unmistakable. 

"I'm still missing something." 

"William the Bold was a great soldier. A local boy who went off to fight in the eastern deserts -- a brave veteran of the Great Deadite War -- a fighter through and through -- you could always count on his steel." 

Tim listened silently, his mouth pinching in a slightly annoyed expression. 

"It was he who brought back The Necronomicon, 'the book of the dead.' In it I discovered a spell that, by the proper ritual, we could use to return William to us, along with warriors connected to him through time, to defeat the invading armies." 

"You expect the three of us to defeat an army?" Tim asked, a disbelieving smile twitching the corners of his mouth. 

"Well, I hadn't planned on the three of you specifically, but since that's all we have to work with at the moment -- yes." 

"Look, Joxer may be perfectly happy to get his head bashed in fighting someone else's war, but if it's all the same to you, I'd like to go back where I came from." 

"Definitely a descendant of Percival's," the wizard grumbled. "I believe you're overlooking several salient points. First of all, we need you to translate for Joxer. It's no good having a swordsman who doesn't understand battle commands. Secondly, you have a grasp of the future, of tactical maneuvers not yet invented. That's an advantage we need." Bessarion smiled slightly, but it was not a friendly smile, as he added, "and thirdly, there's the little matter of where you came from." 

"I came from the year 2032 A.D.," Tim said. "Planet Earth, just so we have that point correct, and if you could kindly return me there, preferably somewhere outside Macronesian territory, I'd be much obliged." 

"You only think that's where you come from. As I believe I already told you, you are but a shade of a future that might be. Your memories are nothing more than prophetic dreams. You are a powerful seer -- but until that moment when I cast that spell, Timothy of Neill, you did not exist." 

Again, the face scrunched itself up as Tim considered this. "I don't exist?" he asked, flatly. 

"Oh, you exist. Here and now you exist, but only within the magic envelope that surrounds you. Before the spell, you did not exist. And if you insist on being returned to the nothingness from which you came, then you never will exist." 

"I don't think I quite --" 

"Percival," Bessarion hissed, pointing at the scraggly fellow at the end of the table, "your direct ancestor, Percival, died in a battle years ago a forgotten nobody. Friendless -- loveless -- childless." The old man laughed. "So, you see, of all of you, you are the one who should be most grateful for my gifts of magic. If I hadn't accidentally cast the spell on the wrong bones -- you would never have been created." 

Bessarion left the table still chuckling to himself and walked out of the room without further adieu. Tim was left contemplating his plate of runny eggs and mystery meat, wondering if it was possible to suffer indigestion in a dream. 

"Anybody got a Tums?" 

*** 

"He's horrid," Elspeth protested. "He's repulsive. He's disgusting. He's --" 

"I got it. I got it. No need to elaborate," Tim said, stopping her. 

"And I'm not just saying that because he's dead," she added. 

"Don't you have any friends who might --?" 

"No." 

Tim sighed. Defeating an invading army might turn out to be the easy part. Getting Percival a date was going to be a bit trickier. It wasn't that he was such an unpleasant looking fellow. He just seemed a bit hygienically underprivileged. Being an insufferable coward probably didn't help. 

Elspeth returned to her maps, spread out over the former breakfast table. She was a tall young woman, a little too angular for Tim's tastes. Her hair was long, blond, and wild, with a mind entirely its own. She was almost pretty and yet in the current light is was clear that she bore an unmistakable resemblance to her hawk-nosed grandfather. Once youth left her she would look, Tim imagined, rather -- frightening. Oddly enough, she seemed the sort of person who might enjoy looking frightening. 

"The enemy is already gathering here," she said, pointing to one of the maps. 

Tim nodded -- a military reflex that meant simply, Yes, Ma'am, I understand and did not, he hoped, convey a sign of agreement. 

"I say we attack now," Joxer piped in. "Get the drop on them." 

Tim sighed again. So far, the only good thing to come out of this nightmare (though he was finding it harder and harder to convince himself it was only a nightmare) was a chance to get unprecedented experience in the colloquial use of ancient languages. 

"Your zeal is appreciated," Tim said. "But I don't think a full-on assault with odds of five hundred to two is recommended." 

"Five hundred to three," Joxer corrected. "We've got Percival." 

Tim just stared back at him. 

"Right," Joxer admitted. "five hundred to two." 

Tim and Joxer both cast a disparaging look upon Percival. Having happily stuffed himself full of breakfast he was now slumped over sideways in his chair, snoring intermittently. 

"Are you sure you didn't marry your cousin?" Tim asked Joxer. 

"I'm not married," Joxer replied, unaware of any implied insult to young Percival, and slightly confused as to why the subject had changed.. "I think Bessarion pulled me out of time in my prime so I'd be a better warrior. I haven't gotten around to those little domestic details yet." 

"Oh, great," Tim grumbled. "Elspeth." 

"Yes?" she said, looking up from her maps. 

"Let me get this straight. I have to defeat an invading army _and_ still somehow keep both of these idiots alive long enough to breed?" 

She gave him a look of not unsympathetic pity. 

Turning back to Joxer, he asked, "So, any ideas that don't involve our becoming tragic heroes in a ballad about the bloody slaughter at Dead Man's Cliff?" 

"If Xena were here we could --" 

"Any ideas that _don't_ involve Xena saving our collective posteriors at the last minute?" 

"Uh -- no." 

Before the conversation could degenerate further, Elspeth interrupted. "Where's Percival?" 

*** 

Joxer climbed gingerly across the cliff face. His hand slipped and for a moment he thought he was done for. He cast a glance down at the rocks below and offered a silent curse to Tim for talking him out of his armor. _Agility, smagility_, some solid armor would've made him feel a lot better right now. 

"You're doing great!" Tim cheered from the safety of the chiseled path. 

_Wimps_, Joxer thought to himself. _How could my descendants turn out to be such wimps?_

With a final effort, Joxer swung into the small cave opening, landing with a grunt. Percival squeaked and cowered in the back of the cave. 

"All right, Percy, let's go. Back to the castle." 

Percival babbled something incomprehensible to Joxer and continued to tremble. 

"Would you speak plain Greek, already?" Joxer groused. 

Percival continued to babble. 

With a sigh, Joxer poked his head back out of the entrance. Crooking his finger, he called, "Oh, Tim." 

While waiting for his translator, Joxer pulled his sword out and started twirling it out of boredom. Percival's babbling turned into whimpering. Eventually, Tim scrambled into the cave. Joxer was extremely annoyed to notice that Tim had strapped on his own helmet. "Hey, give that back!" 

Joxer grabbed the helmet and tried to pull it off Tim's head, but the chin strap held it firm with the end result being to choke the submariner. In defense, Tim put a death grip on Joxer's nose. 

The two were struggling perilously close to the edge when Elspeth's voice scolded them. "Boys! Behave yourselves! You're supposed to be talking Percival out of his hiding place. Instead you're scaring him to death." With no apparent effort, Elspeth stepped into the cave. Pushing past the squabbling kinsmen, she approached Percival. 

A few more half hearted shoves were exchanged and Tim surrendered the hat. 

"Percival," Elspeth said softly. "You can't hide in here forever." 

"Yes I can." 

"You have to come out to eat." 

"No I don't. I can fish." 

"Fish?" 

"I have a net." 

"Percival, you're a hundred feet above the sea." 

"I have a really long rope." 

Percival showed them the net he'd made. 

"You really think that's going to work?" Tim asked. 

"It does work," Percival insisted. "Watch." 

Percival proceeded to demonstrate his net, pulling several fish back up with it. 

Joxer began prattling on about something. Elspeth had learned to recognize the word 'Xena' but made little more sense of it than that. 

"That's very clever, Percival," she said, obviously surprised that his contraption was effective. 

Percival nodded proudly to himself. "So, you see. I can stay here forever." 

"Meet a lot of women in a place like this?" Tim quipped. 

"Gentlemen," Elspeth interrupted, "and I use the term loosely, we have wasted enough time. We have an invading army to defeat." 

"Oh, to hell with the invading army," Tim snapped. "This isn't our war. We have nothing to do with this. All I want to do is find Percy here a nice Percyette so I can get back to my life as usual." 

Elspeth was about to shout back but stopped herself and just sighed. "You know, the truth is -- you are hardly the band of bloodthirsty zombie warriors from hell that my grandfather and I thought we were conjuring up. Go, Timothy. Take Percival somewhere safe, somewhere with lots and lots of undiscriminating females -- leaving a barrel of ale in the vicinity might be a good idea as well -- and go." 

But instead of leaping at her offer of freedom, Tim only stared off into the distance. "You know," he whispered distractedly, "that's an idea." 

*** 

"I'm gonna be in therapy for years after this," Tim shuddered. "I can't believe I'm doing this. I especially can't believe it was my idea." 

"I just want to go on record," Percival trembled, "as saying that I preferred the plan with the barrel of ale and lots of undiscriminating females." 

"Barrels of ale will be involved in this eventually," Tim offered. "I just can't promise undiscriminating females. Now where's that shovel again? Dammit, Joxer, it is _not_ a sword! There was a _reason_ Elspeth took it away from you and that reason was that you were making Percy soil his pants! Now _stop_ swinging it and _get to work_." 

"Why isn't Elspeth here digging?" Joxer grumbled. 

"The lady is busy elsewhere." 

"Xena would have this done in no time." 

"Shut _up_." 

"In fact, she would have 'em dug up, positioned, and be out hunting in the time it took you guys to _find_ this place." 

"You know, it occurs to me that it might help if some of our corpses were a little fresher. Care to volunteer?" 

"We're ready up here!" Elspeth yelled from the battlements, interrupting further discussion in the graveyard. 

"Dang that girl's voice can carry," Tim murmured. Waving at the young woman, he indicated he needed a little more time. (Or at least that's what he intended to indicate. Elspeth, unfamiliar with digital watches, was completely at a loss as to determine what he meant by tapping his wrist bracelet.) 

Eventually, the trio of relatives arrived at the battlements with their cargo. "I can't _believe_ I'm doing this," Tim repeated as they propped up the first of their 'warriors'. 

"It might work," Elspeth admitted, but she placed more emphasis on 'might' than Tim liked. 

"What about your part?" he asked. 

"Almost ready. It just has to boil a little longer. The barrels of ale should be arriving soon too." 

"And where did you get all these barrels?" 

Elspeth just smiled and winked. "Women have their ways. Now get me that crucible!" she yelled at one of the servants. 

"Will we be ready in time?" Tim asked nervously. 

"We're cutting it close, but we should make it. Scouts report that Queen Daria and her army are approaching from the north. They should be arriving just before dawn." 

"Queen Daria?" Joxer repeated with a mindless grin spreading over his face. "The invading barbarians are led by a warrior queen? You don't suppose she could be related to --?" 

"Are we sure the invading army will find the barrels?" Tim asked, ignoring Joxer's mental wanderings. 

"There's really only one place they can cross the river safely with a group that large. They have to pass there. We'll leave the barrels on an abandoned cart near the bridge." 

"What if they don't stop to drink?" 

Elspeth's snort was no where _near_ delicate. "They're northerners. It is their _duty_ to prove they can drink _anything_ and everything not nailed down. Due to liquid's inability to be nailed down, that pretty much covers everything. I don't think we need to worry." 

*** 

Tim O'Neill, Joxer and Elspeth stood on the hill facing the castle admiring their handiwork. (Percival had refused to leave the castle.) "You think the barbarians will attack _before_ dawn, right?" Tim asked. 

"Roughly. We can't know for certain." 

"Pray it's _before_ dawn. In bad light, I think it's half-way passable, but if they arrive after the sun comes up we're screwed." 

"Don't forget my special brew," Elspeth reminded him. "They'll be lucky if they can see their feet by the time they get here." 

Tim still wasn't convinced. Arranged around the battlements were skeletons from the graveyard that they had raided. It was meant to be reminiscent of the legendary Deadite Army. Instead it just looked like they'd raided a graveyard. 

"Give us a wave, Percy!" Joxer yelled. 

They were too far for Percival to have heard, so Elspeth blew a round on her animal horn. Percival responded by pulling on ropes attached to several of the skeletons. Several of them did in fact offer an apparent wave. It still looked pretty pathetic. And one of them lost a few finger bones which clattered down the side of the castle. 

"Eh. It's a try." 

*** 

Horses and men clomped across the massive stone bridge. They were guarded and wary. If they were to be attacked en route it would likely be here. But so far they had met with no resistance. In fact all the peasants seemed to have fled in terror from their path. On the far side of the bridge a cart was abandoned with its wheels stuck in the mud, its cargo still on board. The Captain of the Guard, a big man in a pointy hat, laughed, "Pathetic fools." 

A soldier was sent to search the cart while the rest of the army crossed. Abandoned as it was, they didn't expect it to contain much of value but it didn't hurt to check. "Sir! Sir!" the excited soldier called out. "Ale, sir!" 

"Halt!" 

The Captain of the Guard was inspecting the soldier's find when an a looming presence arrived. Towering above them both, the imperious Queen Daria snarled. "Why have we stopped?" 

"Ale, my queen," the captain bowed, "barrels of it." 

Smiling to reveal more than one missing tooth lost in battle, the queen declared, "We camp here!" 

*** 

"Shouldn't they be here by now?" Joxer asked for the twelfth time in the last hour. 

Tim understood his eagerness. It wasn't just the fear that a late post-dawn arrival would give away the truth of their "army" but the very nature of that army was an incentive to get things over with quickly. Plainly put, their comrades were a bit on the 'fragrant' side. 

The first rays of dawn were just creeping over the horizon when the barbarians appeared over the hill. Tim's heart sunk, sure that the daylight would make all their work moot. But just when he feared all was lost he noticed that -- either there were a few Medieval battle maneuvers that hadn't been recorded in the history books or -- "Good God. They're doing the conga!" 

Well, some of them were doing the conga at any rate. Others were staggering more or less aimlessly. And if Tim hadn't know better he would have sworn that two of them were doing the Macarena, but he decided their spasmodic jerkings were only coincidental. 

"What the hell did you put in that ale?!" 

"Trade secret," Elspeth smiled smugly. "You wanted them incapacitated." 

"If you could do this, why did you conjure us up? A three year old could whup them now." 

"My grandfather is a royal pain, for starters. Tampering with potions is 'woman's magic.' He wouldn't even let me try." 

"Who's the tall chick?" Joxer purred. 

"Hm?" Elspeth looked a bit annoyed at the interruption. "Oh, that's Queen Daria. I wouldn't mess with her if I were you. Not even drunk. See that short guy marching next to her?" 

The boys nodded. 

"That's her Captain of the Guard. He's six foot three." 

"Eeeeee." 

They watched in fascination as the staggering drunken hoard approached the castle. Tim was slightly disconcerted to realize that the conga line was still weaving its way toward them. "Maybe it's time to start with the spooky stuff?" 

"Right. Ropes, everyone." 

They all tugged at their ropes and the skeletons began to sway and rattle their swords. A few of the invaders responded as hoped, screaming bloody murder and running the other way. A frustratingly large number of them however failed to even notice. And the two guys Tim had noticed earlier only seemed happy to have an audience and began trying to teach the skeletons their moves. 

For unclear reasons, Queen Daria stabbed her own Captain of the Guard and then stormed the castle solo. The conga line followed, sort of. 

"Oh, dear," Elspeth whispered. "Daria's made it over the outer wall. This could be bad." 

"I'll save us!" Joxer announced. Sword in hand he ran down the stairs to meet the invaders. 

"He's dead," Elspeth muttered. 

"If he's dead, I'm dead," Tim pointed out, his voice cracking slightly. 

Elspeth looked at him with genuinely sad eyes. 

"Look," Tim said, refusing to give up. "Magic got us into this mess, maybe magic can get us out!" 

"Timothy, I appreciate your confidence in me, but I am young and my powers aren't strong enough for this sort of thing yet. My talents are in potions, controlling animals, -- 'woman's magic,' remember?" 

"What about that book that Bessarion was going on about?!" 

"What is it with you macho idiots and that book?" Elspeth snapped. "That book has never produced anything that didn't have catastrophic side effects." 

"Catastrophic side effects might be a good thing right now!!!" 

"Excuse me?" 

Further conversation was cut short when Bessarion rushed up to the parapets. "What are you doing up here?! You're supposed to be defending us! That idiot Joxer is getting trampled on by a -- a --" 

"Conga line?" 

"-- and you're hiding up here like nothing's happening!" 

"Where's the book?!" Tim demanded. "Take me to the book!" 

Before she could stop them, Bessarion and Tim were gone. Elspeth whacked Percival on the head for no other reason than he was the closest bundle of testosterone that she could lay her hands on at the moment. Then she stormed off in a huff. 

Rubbing his head and feeling unjustly abused, Percival sulked for a moment. Then the realization dawned that he was alone and -- well, it wasn't like they could blame him for abandoning his post now after they'd all abandoned theirs. 

Turning to leave, he found his way blocked by a very large individual. An individual that had, he couldn't help but notice (they were after all at about eye-level), an unmistakable set of breasts. 

Craning his neck up, he realized that he was standing face to, er, face with Queen Daria herself. She offered him her crooked grin. 

Timidly, Percival smiled back. 

Her grin widened. 

*** 

The rest of the morning went by in such a blur that Percival never even noticed the giant spiders until dinner time when he heard Elspeth complaining to Tim about them. Indeed, a glance out the window confirmed that wagon-sized spiders pretty much littered the landscape. 

Elspeth had commandeered the head of the table and Bessarion sat looking chastised at the far end. Joxer was nursing his wounds and Tim was picking at his dinner. No one even seemed to notice when Daria staggered in and passed out on the table. 

"I _told_ you not to use that book," Elspeth continued. "I told both of you." 

"It sent the invaders running didn't it?" Tim said meekly, not even looking up from his meal. 

"Half of them were passed out drunk before you even finished the spell!" Noticing Daria for the first time, Elspeth pointed at her. "Does she look like the giant spiders had any effect on _her_? No, she's just stinking drunk." 

"Well, she's also kinda tired," Percival chirped happily. 

The conversation ground to a halt as everyone turned to stare at the beaming man. Percival just continued to smile giddily. Joxer and Tim high-fived each other across the table. Elspeth only shuddered. 

"So," Tim said, "about sending us b --" 

Bessarion snapped his fingers and Joxer and Tim vanished, their utensils clattering to the floor. 

THE END

   [1]: mailto:aj2245@aol.com



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